MAJOR JEN, DETECTIVE.
Astounded and horrified, the major, with Isabella Dallas clinging to
his arm, stood staring at the empty bed. The candles were still
burning, but Jaggard had fallen from his chair and was lying, a
huddled heap, upon the floor. The one window of the room was wide
open, and the wind--now blowing freely--was shaking a loose shutter to
and fro. The shock of the discovery was so terrific that Jen for once
in his life lost his presence of mind. He was recalled to his senses
by the wild voice of Isabella.
"Maurice! Maurice! Where is he?" she cried, leaving the major and
rushing toward the empty bed. "You said he was here--my poor dead
love; but I can't see him. Where is he? Where is he?"
"God knows!" stammered Jen, turning his horrified gaze on the poor
girl. He did not know what to do. Isabella was in a dangerous state of
hysteria. She had on but a loose white dressing-gown, and her presence
in the house at three o'clock in the morning was enough to overpower
Jen's sense of the reasonable, independent of the crowning horror of
the missing corpse. At this juncture the much-needed aid came from
without. David Sarby rushed into the room.
He was half-clothed, pale as the white dress of Isabella Dallas, and
evidently, from the wild look in his eyes and the quivering of his
nether lip, badly scared. Stopping short a few paces from the door, he
held up the lamp which he carried, to survey the astonishing scene
before him. The sight of Jen tongue-tied and immovable, of Isabella
weeping on her knees by the bedside, of the bed itself vacant of its
dead occupant--all these things were calculated to shock even stronger
nerves than those of David Sarby. Nevertheless, after a pause of sheer
astonishment, he managed to stammer out a question:
"Did--did she cry out?" he asked, nodding toward the girl. "I heard a
shriek."
His presence and question unlocked the major's tongue.
"Yes," he replied, in a hesitating manner, as of one unused to speech.
"She came to the library window ten minutes ago, having escaped from
the custody of her mother and Dido. Quite hysterical, as you see, and
bent upon seeing our poor dead lad. To pacify her I brought her, but
as you see--"
"The body is gone!" cried David, hurrying toward the bed.
"Gone! gone!" moaned Isabella, rising. "Oh, my dear, dead lover."
"Jaggard!"
"There," said Jen, pointing to the inanimate form of his old servant.
"He is asleep or dead."
"Dead!" wailed Isabella, catching at the word, "Maurice dead!"
"We must alarm the house," cried Sarby, in a horrified tone, and
thereupon walked swiftly toward the door. But before he could reach it
the major, having recovered his presence of mind, seized him by the
arm.
"No, no!" said Jen, hastily. "Do not bring any one here as yet, David.
We must think of this poor girl. Take her home at once. When you are
both out of the house I shall give the alarm. You understand--no one
must know that Miss Dallas has been in my house at this hour."
"I quite agree with you," said David, simply, and, turning to
Isabella, he took her gently by the hand. "Come, Miss Dallas. This is
no place for you."
"Maurice!" muttered Isabella, looking piteously at him.
"Maurice is not here. Come, Miss Dallas, let me take you back to your
mother."
"My mother is so cruel," said Isabella in a low tone, "and I feel so
ill," she continued, raising her hand to her loose hair. "Yes, yes; I
must go home. But Maurice--my dear Maurice."
"I shall tell you all about it to-morrow," answered Jen, soothingly,
and led her out of the room. "At the present moment you must go home
with Mr. Sarby. David, there is a loose cloak of mine in the hall.
Wrap it round her and come into the library. It is best that she
should leave in the way she came."
David did as he was told, and snatched up his own ulster after
wrapping up Isabella. In the library they found the major reopening
the shutters of the window, which he had closed on the girl's entry.
When he flung them aside a gust of wind blew inward, sprinkling him
with moisture.
"Rain," said Jen, drawing back, "All the better; there will be no
spies about, and you can take Miss Dallas home without being
observed."
Taking the girl by the hand, David led her toward the window. She was
in a half-dazed condition, the result of the strong excitement which
had impelled her to make this midnight visit, and her nerves being
thus dulled, she surrendered herself passively to the guidance of
David. Only at the window did she pause and look steadfastly at the
major.
"You must find out what has become of my dear Maurice's body," she
said, quietly.
"I promise you," replied Jen, with a look of stern determination in
his face.
"And you will let me know?"
"I promise you," said Jen again. "Please go. Miss Dallas. There is no
time to be lost, and you must not be found here."
Thus entreated, Isabella stepped out into the night, and in a moment
or so she was swallowed up in the darkness with her companion. Left
alone, the major closed the window, bolted and barred the shutters,
and then hastened back to the death chamber, where he rang the bell.
In a few minutes the footman, half-dressed and half-asleep, made his
appearance; then came the policeman hastily from the kitchen; finally,
as the bell still continued ringing, all the other servants, male and
female, poured into the room. A single glance showed them what had
occurred--the insensible Jaggard, the empty bed, the open window. A
babel of voices ensued.
"Silence, all of you," cried Jen, authoritatively. "We must act, not
talk. Two of you take Jaggard to his room. Tell the groom to ride at
once to Deanminster for Dr. Etwald and Inspector Arkel. Sampson," he
added, turning to the policeman, who was stolidly staring at the empty
bed, "rouse yourself. Take lanterns and search for footmarks. There
must have been more than one person to carry off a dead body."
These directions were obeyed at once. The house, the grounds, the
whole wild night with its driving tempest became radiant with lights
and alive with terrified men. That a human being should be murdered
was sufficiently ghastly without this crowning horror of a missing
body coming after. Every man looked on his fellow with suspicion; in
the yellow light of the lanterns, dimly through the steady downpour of
rain, could be seen pallid faces and scared expressions. And while the
men folk scoured the house, the park, and the adjacent lanes
environing "Ashantee," the female servants, unnerved and hysterical,
crowded together in the kitchen, whispering over hastily prepared tea.
It was a wild night, and full of the vague horrors of death and
mystery.
Etwald came immediately from Deanminster in company with Arkel, whom
this last extraordinary event took entirely by surprise. He questioned
Sampson--the young policeman left in charge--he searched the chamber
of death, stepped out of the window and across the lawn toward the
belt of laurels which divided the lawn from a winding and tortuous
lane. This, a tenebrous pathway even in the noonday, slipped eel-like
through darkling trees to emerge into the high road a quarter of a
mile away. Arkel was so long absent that Jen could only surmise that
he had gone into this outward darkness, and on the inspector's return
it appeared that the major was right in his conjecture. Furthermore
Arkel brought back certain news.
"Without doubt the body was taken out through the window," he said to
Jen. "The flower-bed beneath the lattice is trampled down. It was
carried across the lawn--for I could see by the light of the lantern
the footmarks of four feet--and through the bushes into the lane. The
way can be traced easily enough to that point; but it is too dark to
note any further sign."
"Nothing more can be done to-night," said Jen, gloomily. "The men have
returned dead tired, but they have seen nothing and no one."
"Where were you when the body was stolen?"
"Sleeping in the library. I saw that all was safe about midnight, and
then sat down over a book and fell asleep. I woke somewhere about
three--"
"You are sure it was that hour?"
"Certain. I heard the hall clock strike. On waking I went into the
room where the dead body was laid out to assure myself that all was
well. I found the bed empty, the window open, and Jaggard insensible."
"Did you hear any noise?"
"None at all. But the wind and rain were wild outside, so that they
may have drowned the noise made by those who broke in."
"We must question your servant," said Arkel, having noted the major's
answers in his pocket-book. "He was stunned, I believe?"
"I can't say. I haven't examined him. Stunned or drugged, I suppose."
"And where is Mr. Sarby?" asked the inspector, as they turned to leave
the room.
The major was prepared for this question, and as he did not intend
that the visit of Isabella to the house should become known to the
police, he answered it in a guarded fashion.
"Mr. Sarby went out as soon as we discovered the loss, and he has not
yet returned."
"Was he with you when you made the discovery?"
"No. He had retired to bed," rejoined Jen. "But as soon as I saw what
had taken place I called him up, and he jumped through the window to
see if he could espy any traces of the robbers. Then the servants
came, and I sent for you."
Inspector Arkel, who could not see one inch beyond his nose, was quite
satisfied with this explanation, and nodded in reply. He left the room
with the major to seek out Jaggard, and, if possible, to learn from
him what had occurred. But this they were unable to do. The man had
been stunned by a blow on the head, and was quite insensible.
"And yet he was a strong man," said Etwald, when he conveyed this
intelligence. "He must have been taken by surprise."
"Undoubtedly," asserted Jen, readily. "But he must also have been
asleep, else he would have called out as the men burst through the
window."
"How do you know there were more than one?" asked Etwald, in a jesting
tone.
"Because Maurice was an unusually heavy man," replied the major, "and
he could not have been carried off--that is, his body could not have
been carried off," he corrected, with a sigh, "unless by two men.
There may have been three, for all I know. But what is the meaning of
it all?" cried Jen, in bewildered dismay. "Why was the poor lad's body
stolen?"
"Resurrectionists!" suggested Arkel; whereupon Major Jen shuddered.
"For God's sake, don't even hint at such a thing," he cried,
vehemently. "It would be too terrible; and, as it happens, quite
unbelievable. It is incredible that such a thing could occur
nowadays."
"It is incredible that such a thing as the theft of a body should
occur," said Etwald, dryly. "Yet it has taken place. But where is Mr.
Sarby? I should think that he would be present to aid you." Jen was
just about to repeat his feigned explanation regarding David's
absence, when the door opened, and the young man, wet and exhausted,
entered the room. To give him his cue, the major spoke to him at once.
"You are just in time, David, as I was telling these gentlemen about
your hunt after those wretches. Did you see anyone?"
"I saw nothing," said David, wearily. "God knows what has become of
the body!"
"Have you any theory, Mr. Sarby?"
"No, doctor! I am too weary to frame theories at this hour of the
night. But, no doubt, Mr. Inspector yonder, can--"
"Certainly not," interrupted Arkel, sharply. "I can prove nothing. I
am quite puzzled."
"And no wonder," said Etwald, counting off events on his fingers. "The
devil-stick, the murder, the theft of the body. This is a catalogue of
horrors. A man might do worse than write a story on these things."
"I agree with you!" remarked the major, sharply. "A man might make a
jest of these horrors--as you are doing."
"I assure you I never felt less like jesting in my life," replied
Etwald, coldly. "But it is no use discussing such a thing at five in
the morning. If you can do without me, major, I shall return to
Deanminster. I am tired."
"But Jaggard?" asked David, rising stiffly from his chair.
"He is all right for the time being. I have detailed a housemaid as
nurse, and she knows what to do. I'll come back again in the morning
and see if he has recovered his senses."
When Etwald took his departure, Major Jen sent David to bed, in spite
of the young man's remonstrances, but remained up himself to talk to
Arkel. For a long time Jen discussed the matter with the inspector,
but the conversation proved extremely unsatisfactory. Arkel was not a
clever detective, or even a keen-witted man, and in a case like the
present--difficult and involved--he was quite at a loss how to
proceed. Finally, Major Jen dismissed him in despair, and while Arkel
went to see his men, who were posted round the house--a clear case of
shutting the stable-door after the steed was stolen--Jen remained
alone to think of what he should do. "I must be my own detective," he
thought, pacing the library. "This man is a fool. He will find out
nothing, and I won't have even the satisfaction of burying the body of
my poor lad. I must do the work myself, with the assistance of David.
To find out who stole the devil-stick; that is the first step. To
discover who killed Maurice; that is the second step. To learn who
carried away his body; that is the third step. Three very difficult
things to find out, and I don't see where to begin. I must learn all I
can about Maurice's past life, for he may have enemies of whom I know
nothing. Once I learn who his enemies are--if he had any--and I may
discover the truth. I shall go and sleep, and when I awaken I shall
set to work to solve these mysteries."
As he spoke the major unbarred the shutters of the window. The rain
had ceased, the dawn was breaking, and the terrible night was at an
end.
"It is an omen!" said the major, "an omen of good!"